Sunday's just another day
by cein
Summary: For CSI's, Sunday is just another day. This Sunday was a really bad day for Don and Mac. SLASH


Title: Sunday's just another day Author: Ceindreadh  
Fandom(s): CSI-New York Genre (general, hetero or slash) : Slash, angst, hurt/comfort  
Pairing/Characters: Don/Mac Rating: PG-15  
Summary: For CSI's, Sunday is just another day.  
Warnings: spoilers for Charge of this post  
Disclaimer. I don't own the CSI-NY characters, I'm only borrowing them, and I promise to return them in minty fresh condition when I'm finished. 

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"Quiet in here," observed Mac as he and Don followed the blood trail.

"This place is a brokerage firm," replied Don. "Don't work on Sunday."

"Must be nice, huh?"

"Yeah," said Don as he followed Mac along the corridor.

"Yeah," thought Mac to himself. He could count on one hand the number of Sunday's that he and Don had been able to spend together since they'd hooked up. Oh they both nominally had Sunday's off every now and then, but the weekends when their schedules coincided were few and far between. And even when they did get to spend a lazy Sunday together, there was always a strong chance that one or both of them would be called in to work.

Last month they'd had one of the rare ones. They'd both been off duty until the Monday morning; no cases had come in requiring either of their assistance. They'd stayed in bed most of the Sunday morning, reveling in the rare opportunity to spend some idle time together. They'd had sex, then they'd snuggled a bit. Then Mac had gotten up and made breakfast for them to share in bed. Then Flack had deliberately dripped honey on Mac so he could lick it off. And Mac had retaliated by splashing milk on Flack to return the favor. They'd even had time to take a nice long luxurious shower together without having to worry about getting to work on time. It had been one of the most blissful peaceful days that Mac had known in a long time.

Unfortunately, Mac knew that this Sunday wasn't going to be so peaceful...and that was before he found the bomb.

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"Don!" called Mac, as he saw his love pinned beneath the wreckage. He rushed to him, ignoring his own aches and pains as he cleared away the debris. The sight of the gaping wound in Don's belly nearly stopped him in his tracks, but instinct took over and he checked Don's pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he found a weak one. "You're going to be okay...just hang on!"

It was like a nightmare...only worse, because he knew he was awake. Mac didn't know how he got through the next few minutes, trying to stop the bleeding, ripping off his own shirt to pack into Don's wound. The shirt that he had pulled on only a few hours earlier. The shirt that Don had slowly buttoned for him, promising him that he'd be ripping it off him that night when they finished work. Well the shirt was well and truly ripped now, and Mac only wished it could have been at Don's hands.  
"Stay with me Don...stay with me." The words were half an order, half a plea. If Mac could have traded places with Don, he'd have done it in a heartbeat. But all he could do was sit and watch and pray that Search and Rescue would locate them quickly. Even with all he'd done, he knew it was just a stopgap, and if Don didn't get to a hospital soon, he'd bleed out right there on the ground. "I'm gonna get you out of here," he'd told Don...he'd promised him he'd get him through it. But Mac knew that it would only be so many words if help didn't arrive soon.

And then he'd seen a light and heard Danny's voice.

"Danny! Flack's injured!"

"We're coming to get you."

Mac could have hugged Danny, so relieved was he. "Hear that, Don?" he asked softly, knowing that Don wouldn't be able to respond. "It's going to be okay, we're gonna get out of here. Just hang on, just a little bit longer. You can do it Don, stay with me." He held Don's hand until the paramedic's arrived and only reluctantly relinquished Don's care to them.

Mac would have given anything to travel to the hospital with Don, but he knew that he couldn't do any more for him. All he could do now was to make sure that they caught the son of a bitch who was responsible.

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"He's under heavy sedation, to stabilize him before we operate," the surgeon told Mac later on.

Mac knew that he could have sent Danny or Lindsay or any of the C.S.I.'s on his team to Trinity to process Don. Any of them would have been more than capable of taking the necessary photos and collecting Don's effects while he worked on the evidence from the scene. But the chance of seeing Don again, no, the need that Mac had to see Don, was so burning him up inside that he pulled rank and went himself. He supposed it was one of the perks of being the boss, that he didn't have to explain his decision to anybody else.

Even cleaned and sutured, Don's injuries weren't pleasant to behold. Mac felt like somebody had taken a knife to his own body as he carefully photographed every burn, every bruise, every piece of torn flesh. "I'm gonna get you through this, Don," he promised as he finished his work. "I promise."

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Taking the pictures had been bad enough, but what nearly made Mac break down, was of all things, Don's tie.

The surgeon had - as promised - collected all the debris removed from Don's body and packed it up for transfer to the C.S.I. lab. Also included in the batch were Don's clothes, or rather what was left of them after they'd been cut from his body in the E.R.

"If you'll just sign for them here," said the Nurse in charge as she handed Mac the bags.

Mac scanned the label on each item before signing the chain of custody dockets on them. Blast debris, clothing, even Don's shoes had been bagged up. It wasn't until Mac got to the bag containing Don's tie, that he hesitated.

- - - - - - - - - - - Earlier that morning.

Mac watched with amusement as Don hovered in front of his mirror, holding various ties up in front of him. Finally he turned to Mac, "What d'you think?" he asked, "Paisley or diagonal stripes."

"Stripes. Unless you have a plain color one."

Don shrugged, "Maybe, nah, this'll do." He dropped the paisley tie on the dresser and threw the striped one around his neck.

"Here...let me," said Mac. He stepped close to Don and took the ends of the tie in his hands, quickly and expertly tying the knot. "There," he said when he was finished, but instead of letting go of the tie, he used it to pull Don closer to him, close enough to kiss. Mac felt Don's hand on the back of his head, holding him in place...not that he wanted to move away. If it hadn't been for the fact that they both needed to get to work, Mac would have been quite happy to stay like that for the rest of the morning. But finally, reluctantly, he had to pull away. "We'll finish this later," he said, looking at his watch.

"I'll be holding youze to that," grinned Don. He flicked his tie in Mac's face. "You know, maybe I should go with the other tie..."

Mac rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. Grabbing the tie he used it to pull Don out of the bedroom after him. "Out, work, now!"

-- - - - - - - - - - - -

Now as Mac held the stained and damaged tie in his hands, he wished that he'd let Don take his time. If he'd been a few minutes later getting to work that morning, maybe some other Detective would have taken the call and be lying on a hospital bed right now. Not that Mac wished that fate on anybody...but he would have given anything for it not to have been Don.

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Nobody knew how hard it had been for Mac to talk Lessing down. Everybody was so impressed by how he'd resolved the situation without more bloodshed. Nobody knew how much of a struggle it had been for Mac to stop himself from simply shooting the guy. He'd wanted to, that was for sure. It didn't matter that Lessing was mentally disturbed...that he wasn't living in the same reality as the rest of the city...all that Mac could think of was that this was the bastard who had put Don in the hospital. Mac knew that he would have been able to take Lessing out with a single shot. He knew that there was even a good chance that he'd have been able to do it and not get Fielding killed in the process. He knew that an I.A. inquiry would most likely rule it a good shoot. Mac knew all this, and for a second he was ready to shoot, ready to take revenge on this man for what he had done.

But he couldn't do it. Something about Lessing...something about the message he was trying to send...it hit a nerve with Mac, and he found himself lowering his gun and talking the man down.

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Later in the hospital, Mac sat with his head in his hands, wondering if maybe he'd chosen the wrong option. But for better or for worse, he'd made his choice. Killing Lessing wasn't going to help Don's recovery. Only time would do that.

"There's room for 'cautious optimism'" was the way Stella had put it. Hawkes had described it as 'miracles of modern medicine'. Whatever it was down to, Mac just hoped it would be enough.

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Mac stood by Don's bedside. "Don," he said, softly. He wasn't really expecting a response. Don's doctor had told him that it could be several hours before Don was likely to wake. "He lost a lot of blood before we managed to stabilize him. When you factor in the anesthesia, painkillers etc, it's likely to be morning before he's awake, possibly longer. You should probably go home, we'll call you if there's any change. There's nothing you can do for him here."

Mac knew all this, but he also knew that he could at least be there for Don. Maybe it wasn't medically useful, but he couldn't bear the thought of leaving Don alone.

Picking up Don's hand, Mac held it gently, "Don," he said, "If you can hear me, squeeze my hand." There was no response. "Squeeze my hand, Don." Mac knew in his heart that it was unlikely that Don would be able to respond to him, but he had to try. He needed to find some reassurance that his Don wasn't lost forever. Even though the Doctor had been optimistic about Don's chances for recovery, Mac needed his own sign. He held Don's hand for what seemed like an eternity...and then there it was...a small, barely perceptible...but yes, Don's hand was moving in Mac's, weakly and slowly...but definitely squeezing back.

Mac breathed a silent prayer of thanks as he clasped Don's hand in both of his before bringing it to his lips and kissing it gently. "We're going to get through this, Don," he said, as he lowered Don's hand to the bed.

Mac was about to sit down on the chair in the corner, when he saw Don's eyelids slowly start to flicker. "Don?" he said, hardly daring to believe it.

It seemed to take an eternity, but slowly Don's eyes flickered open completely. He blinked a few times before focusing on Mac. "Hey..." His voice was weak and scratchy. "Don!" Mac couldn't hide his delight and relief. Mac smiled down at him, "Don, do you know who I am?"

Don nodded slowly, "Mac...'tective Mac..." His eyes closed for a few seconds before he forced them open again. "Taylor..." he murmured.

"That's right, Don. Do you remember what happened?"

"Bomb...evacuate...we...we get everybody?"

"Yes Don, yes we did," said Mac. "We cleared most of the building, Search and Rescue found the rest." He paused for a few seconds before continuing, "How are you feeling?"

"Like...like a building fell on me..."

Mac couldn't help but smile, "Yeah, that'd be about right."

Don's eyes shut and Mac thought he'd fallen asleep, but then he forced his eyes open again. "Hey...hey Mac..."

"Yes Don, I'm still here."

"Next...next Sunday...let's...let's do something...something a bit more fun..."

Mac leaned in close to Don and kissed him gently. "That's a promise."

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The End


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